Should've Come Over
by Ambrosia Jones
Summary: Mindy and Danny's separate attempts to move on are thwarted by the same song. AngstyFluff. Eventual M content. The characters and song lyrics do not belong to me. For Operation: Tonic Water.
1. Chapter 1

**_Danny_**

"-and so then I said to her 'It would be weird of you _not_ to at this point', you know what I mean?"

The inflection in Sally's voice indicated to Danny that a question had been asked, though he had stopped paying attention to the conversation for some time now. He started to panic, not eager to have an argument in the middle of a crowded restaurant on a Saturday night. Danny especially didn't want to argue about whether or not he'd been listening to yet another one of her stories about her awful-sounding friends. It was only a matter of time before she'd expect him to _meet_ them. The thought made him scowl.

Danny looked up at Sally, ready to give some generic, faux-enthusiastic response like "Of course!" or "Crazy, right?". She was still plowing through the story though, eyes closed and wildly gesticulating with her fork and knife. She hadn't even noticed that he wasn't listening.

That was fine, really. Danny sighed and took a sip of his water. It served him right, considering that he was using her as a placeholder. It was only fair that she was as self-absorbed as he was. Dating Sally was his lame attempt at a distraction to convince himself - and the few others that would notice or care - that he'd moved on. It was exactly what he deserved.

Sally continued to drone on about her friend's dilemma. Or good news? He had no idea. She stopped only to tear a shrimp from its shell with her teeth, chewing noisily and smacking her lips. He focused on her mouth, the pinkish shade of lipstick she wore smeared and shiny with butter from her scampi. She talked _so much_. Just thoughtless, mindless rambling. Mindy liked to talk too, but she wanted to talk _with_ you, not at you. She'd never let him get away with disengaging from the conversation the way he had tonight, not that he'd have reason to. "Danny! How dare you?" she'd cry, punctuating her outrage with a pinch on his person. He smiled at the thought and was immediately overcome with a wave of sadness. He remembered that the icy awkwardness that had settled over what was left of their relationship was his fault. He'd ruined everything. It meant that he'd probably never be the victim of one of her pinch attacks again.

He began to saw at the half chicken splayed out on his plate with more force than necessary, scraping the plate loudly. "Whoa, did they leave the brick?" Sally asked with a graceless chuckle.

"What?" he snapped. The harsh annoyance in his voice startled him. _Dial it back, man. Relax._

She tapped at the edge of his plate with her fork before raising her hands in mock surrender. "Jesus! Chicken under a brick? Your meal? I was making a joke, was all! What crawled up your butt and died?"

"Really, Sally? Bathroom humor at the table? Come on." He tried to say this in a softer tone and threw in a strained smile for good measure.

She rolled her eyes at him and twirled her pasta around her fork. "God, you're so uptight. It's a good thing you're hot." Sally slurped the pasta loudly and licked her lips, winking at him. Danny hoped he hid his grimace behind his water glass as he took a long drink.

An awkward silence settled over their table, finally. Danny carefully dissected his chicken, trying with all of his might not to think of the last time he ordered the entree. He failed, of course, and felt his heart tighten as he removed the crispy skin with surgical precision.

"_Ooh, easy access! Thank you, babe!"_

"_Min-"_

"_What! It's the best part! And in some cultures, chicken skin is a delicacy."_

"_It's all fat. It's not good for you."_

"_Well, thankfully, I have the delicate bone structure and high metabolism of a hummingbird, so this will have no effect on me whatsoever." Mindy popped another piece of the chicken skin that Danny had cut away into her mouth and closed her eyes, letting out a soft moan of pleasure. "So salty and crispy and perfect. Ugh, it's so worth the clogged artery, babe."_

_Danny smiled brightly at her and shook his head. He adjusted the napkin in his lap so that his physical reaction to her enjoyment of his meal wasn't obvious. "What am I gonna do with you, Min?" His voice came out lower and softer than he intended. He was a mess, and dinner had just started._

Danny frowned at his plate as the memory was filed away again. He glanced up at Sally and speared a piece of skin with his fork. "You want some?" he offered, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Ew, chicken skin? No." She waved him away, her nose turned up in distaste. "I didn't even eat that when I was fat."

"You know, in some cultures, chicken skin is considered a delicacy" he said, before eating it himself. Mindy had been right: it was delicious.

They continued to eat without talking, without eye contact even. Danny tried not to glance at his watch, knowing that would only make the night feel like it was never ending. The restaurant was packed and the piped in music seemed loud now that Sally wasn't saying anything. Some kind of bubble gum pop was winding down as he chewed on an artichoke heart. He was prepared for another song he'd despise when the mournful sound of an accordion caught his attention. _Alright, maybe some grown-up music for a change._

Once the guitar and vocals began, Danny perked up. "This, uh, this sounds like Jeff Buckley."

"Who?" Sally was gazing into the mirror of her compact, touching up her lipstick. Danny rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Jeff Buckley. He did a cover of 'Hallelujah'. That Leonard Cohen song?" Sally shrugged her shoulders. Danny cleared his throat and sang the first few bars to jog her memory, nodding his head and raising his eyebrows, because come on, who doesn't know "Hallelujah"?

"Oh yeah! 'Shrek'!" she cried.

Danny groaned, and hoped she didn't hear it over the music. "Yeah, well, he was a good kid. Really talented. Died tragically. I think this is him. I'll ask the waitress when she comes back; maybe she can check the CD case for me."

Sally reached out to stroke his cheek, openly laughing at him now. "Oh, Peepaw. First of all, this is probably satellite radio. Second of all, there's an app for that; duh!" She reached into her handbag and pulled out her iPhone.

"Wait, what do you-" Before he could finish his question, Sally pressed a blue, swirly icon on her screen and held her phone up in the air for a few moments before looking at it again. "'Lover, You Should've Come Over'," she purred. She smiled at him; some of the pinkish stuff she wore on her lips was smeared across her front teeth.

"I, I don't-" He shook his head, worried that she wanted him to go home with her tonight. He was regretting _dinner_ (and the other couple of times they'd had sex); he just didn't want to feel so terribly alone, especially if there was no chance of-

"Your _song_, Danny. Good Lord, I'm signing you up for Genius Bar workshops and getting you an iPhone for Christmas." She shoved her phone at him while Danny gaped at her like a goldfish, terrified by her declaration about Christmas. _Christmas? That's eight months away, there's no way, no freakin' way-_

"I'm going to the little girl's room. Be back soon." He nodded silently and wiped his now-drenched hands on his jeans before fiddling with Sally's phone. So he was right; it was a Jeff Buckley song. Danny smiled to himself; he had a good ear, even in a crowded restaurant on a very uncomfortable date.

A little box in the lower right corner said 'Lyrics', so he pushed on it clumsily with his fingers. The words filled the screen, white letters superimposed over an image of the late Buckley's face. As he read the words and listened to the man's impassioned singing, he felt his chest tighten again. If he were a layman, he'd probably think he was having a heart attack, but Danny knew better. This song. _This fucking song. _

_**I feel too young to hold on**_

_**I'm much too old to break free and run**_

_**Too deaf, dumb, and blind**_

_**To see the damage I've done**_

"Shit. Mindy. _Shit." _Danny felt his chin tremble as he took in a ragged breath. He scrolled back to the top of the screen and read the lyrics again, letting out a sound that hovered somewhere between a sob and a sharp bark of laughter. He set the phone face down on the table and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself.

A strange sense of calm flooded him then; being a good Catholic Danny'd always had a secret belief in signs and angels and other such spiritual, mystical stuff. Who knew they could come in such a secular form: a long-dead, 90's era pop star playing on satellite radio in some nondescript restaurant while he's on a date with the wrong woman? He chuckled and shook his head, the waitress choosing that moment to come over.

"Everything okay, sir?" She smiled, but eyed him with a hint of suspicion. He was, after all, trembling and sweating, practically crying, and now, suddenly laughing, all while he was alone and in public. _Oh god._

"Everything is wonderful. Or at least it will be. I mean, I hope it will be. I mean- Uh, just the check, thank you, sorry." He dabbed at his brow with his napkin and gave her his best apologetic smile while she went to fetch the bill.

Danny sighed, this time one of relief and clear-headed focus, and folded his hands as he waited for Sally to return, certain of what needed to be done.

* * *

**AN: This story would not have been possible without tumblr user sednarb, as she introduced me to what is now one of my favorite songs, Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over" from his "Grace" album. It is recommended listening for this chapter. A very special 'thank you' to you! Extra special thanks to the-omniscient-narrator aka Calliope_Soars for being my first beta ever! And of course thank you to phunkybrewsterspen and alittlenutjob for Operation: Tonic Water on tumblr!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Mindy**_

**Self-care Saturday is underway! #bubblebath #deepconditioning #manipedi #chickflicks #oprahslifeclass #imastrongbrownwomanthatdontneednoman**

Mindy blew out a breath between pursed lips after posting the selfie to her Instagram page. She was staying in tonight, and probably for the next few thousand Friday and Saturday nights. She'd like to take full credit for "Self-care Saturday", but is pretty sure she read about it in GOOP, or that it was already a trending topic before she decided to reclaim it as her own.

After the disaster that was the one-night-stand with the married teacher, staying home seemed like the safest option. Her heart and her ego were dangerously close to becoming damaged beyond repair. Not to mention the fact that other men were simply poor substitutes for the one guy she'd decided was her penguin; they mate for life, you know. Yes, he's the Harry to her Sally; the Tom Hanks to her pre-tragic-plastic-surgery Meg Ryan: goddamn Daniel Castellano.

She'd be a liar if she didn't admit that part of the reason she'd decided to start on this self-care journey was to see that if maybe she could make her hair fuller and shinier; her skin less splotchy and spotty and more supple; her mind and digestive system quieter, then maybe, just maybe, she'd stumble across fixing whatever it was that drove Danny away in the first place. Then he'd come back. She would, of course, pretend to have to consider whether or not she even _wanted_ him back, but she'd eventually acquiesce with just enough time left on the clock to _really_ turn him into a sweaty wreck. All the while she'd be screaming and weeping on the inside about how happy she was to be back with him and silently vowing to do whatever it takes to never lose him again.

Thinking about her master plan made Mindy start to cry hot, bitter tears of frustration, confusion, and loneliness. "Ugh!" she cried out loud in her empty apartment, happy she'd taken the selfie while she'd still had her emotions in check. "Shake it off, Lahiri. Be a woman of action!" If her neighbors could hear her, she was confirming their suspicions about her lack of sanity, but the little pep talks helped, sometimes. Mindy was beyond caring what strangers thought. Strangers wouldn't make her French toast (well, okay, restaurant chefs are strangers, but still) or hold her close or read to her when she's sick or commit to her for as long as they both shall live or give her mixed race, chunky, sweaty, brilliant, adorable babies.

Hair slathered in extra-virgin, cold-pressed coconut oil, and face covered in a bentonite clay mask, she ran a hot bath and threw in a scoop of epsom salts before gingerly lowering herself into the steaming water. She tried not to think about the fact that if she and Danny were still together, this weekend would have been the perfect time to finally give up the goods. In fact, she would have liked to try the romantic before-sex-bath-thing with Danny. It would have been a first for her. He had made her feel _that_ beautiful and confident, until he didn't.

Her lip trembled and she pinched her forearm in an effort to focus on some physical pain rather than the emotional kind that had been her constant companion. "You are a warrior woman. You are Beyonce Pad Thai. You are invincible" she whispered, resting her head against the cool tiles of her bathroom wall. For the first time in a long time, those words rang hollow in her ears.

* * *

"Hmm. Dr. Oz, you've done it again." Mindy inspected herself in her mirror, feeling lighter after her supposedly bloat-reducing bath. Her hair and skin glowed from the crunchy-granola treatments she'd experimented with. The melancholy she'd felt before was lifting; too bad she was all alone on a Saturday night looking this brown and glorious and feeling sorta okay.

She was determined to do this self-care thing right. She picked out a pajama set that made her feel dainty and feminine and paired it with her prettiest robe. Resolute to keep feeling healthy and Gwyenth Paltrow-esque, she ordered from the organic, farm-to-table cafe up the block she'd been meaning to try. Mindy was even going to skip the wine tonight, opting for lavender tea instead.

"Tea means England and England means Miss Jones and Mr. Darcy!" she sang out, skipping over to her television. Mindy always had to watch both "Bridget Jones' Diary" movies; it was an unspoken rule. She figured she'd multitask and paint her toenails during the first. Dinner would be delivered; she'd eat, then paint her fingernails during the sequel. She'd end the night trying her hand at meditating (she'd found an app) and an Oprah-guided journaling exercise. Maybe. If her nails were dry.

"Pssh. GOOP. Someday everyone will be reading _my _self-care newsletter. MOOL. Er, yeah. I am a guru in the making. And I'm Indian so I'm halfway there already." She nodded to her throw pillows. Yup, she was going to be fine. Probably.

Mindy had timed everything perfectly. Her feet were done in time with the movie's conclusion, but still wet when the probable hipster and definite vegan delivery man-boy brought her ginger-pear-pomegranate-arugula salad topped with a pan seared duck breast (Dr. Oz had also said that duck was high in dopamine which was important in chasing away the sads and the chub). "You should try it without the flesh next time. Namaste, though" he said with plenty of condescension, tucking his dreds behind his ear.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure the whole 'namaste' thing is super racist, but I will still tip you because karma is very real." She rolled her eyes as she closed the door behind him and his lingering patchouli-drenched armpit odor.

She popped in "The Edge of Reason" and started to dig into her salad. The fruits and veggies were fresh and crisp and just ripe. And the duck. . . Oh the duck. Mindy and crispy poultry skin had a long standing love affair. Duck skin was the white truffle of cracklings: when cooked correctly, it was like having a built in slab of bacon on top of a perfect piece of succulent Thanksgiving turkey, only much, much better. The hippies around the corner sure knew how to cook a duck.

"Oh my god. So salty and crispy and perfect. So worth the clogged artery" she moaned, her eyes closed.

"_What am I gonna do with you, Min?" His voice was super husky and they'd just been served their dinner. The way he looked at her that night- It had been _so _hard to take things slow. _

"_I don't know, Danny? What do you _wanna _do with me?" Mindy ran her tongue slowly across her lips and couldn't decide what was more delicious: Danny's chicken or Danny's reaction. She shouldn't have teased him. It wasn't nice to tease- _

Her eyes flew open, and she glanced around the room, searching for signs of the ghost that had intruded on her perfectly nice, solitary evening. "No. No, no, no" she whispered, tearing into her food. She grabbed the remote with greasy fingers and turned up the volume, hoping to drown out the memories attempting to haunt her.

* * *

"Open up your eyes, then you'll realize, here is standing my everlasting love!" She sang at the top of her lungs over the sound of running water as she gingerly rinsed off her dinner dishes, being careful not to smudge her nails. One of Mindy's favorite parts of "The Edge of Reason" was the soundtrack. Especially Jamie Cullum's cover of "Everlasting Love". She'd been quite the Cullum stalker in the early 2000s; tiny, dark-haired men with accents had always been her weakness. Whether she's willing to admit that to anyone - including herself - is another story entirely.

**Self-care Saturday is DA BOMB! Feeling super nostalgic. About to listen to jamiecullum's Twentysomething. #selfcare #selflove #bridgetjones #jamiecullum #twentysomething #alltimefave #cutiepie #hollaatchagirljamie**

Mindy had allowed herself to indulge her sweet tooth, but chose something classier than her usual sour straws or red licorice. She was forgoing alcohol, but come on, she's not a monk. She'd trekked all the way to Ladurée on the Upper East Side for designer macarons on which she spent $25 for a box of six. Mindy laid out her fanciest china and tea cup, ready to have a very sophisticated tea party for one.

She poured herself a cup of the lavender tea that she'd let steep for the duration of the movie. It was herbal tea; it couldn't be that flavorful. "Mmm, smells nice." Mindy closed her eyes and let the fragrant steam waft over her face for a moment before taking a sip, one more quickie skin treatment for the night.

"Oh- oh god." She ran to the sink and spit the mouthful of liquid out. It was like trying to drink soap. She grabbed the tin and read the side: _Steep for at least five minutes, but no more than 10. Lavender can taste bitter when steeped for too long!_ Oh well. All of her other efforts were successful tonight. She was going to splurge and have a milky sweet chai with her macaron. It was probably still good for her, in some roundabout way.

Finally settled in with her treats, she gave her full attention to the music. She hadn't listened to "Twentysomething" in ages. Her focus had been taken by "Beyonce" and "Art Pop" had briefly held her attention (though if she was being honest, she was disappointed by it). And of course there was Justin (Timberlake, not Bieber; she wasn't on speaking terms with Bieber ) and One Direction and Kendrick Lamar-

**Looking out the door**

**I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners**

Mindy's attention was caught by a song on Jamie's album she'd usually skipped. It was so. . . sorrowful. She found that when she'd bought it way back when, she couldn't really relate to the sentiment. But now. . .

**Maybe I'm too young **

**To keep good love from going wrong**

She pushed her plate away, a half-eaten pistachio macaron still on it. "Right" she scoffed. "Being too young isn't my problem. Not anymore. But I still can't keep good love from going wrong, Jamie" she finished quietly. Her mind immediately strayed to another short-in-stature, raven-haired man as she finally gave the song it's due.

**Will I ever see your sweet return**

**Oh will I ever learn**

"God, Danny" she whimpered. Mindy wandered over to her window and climbed out on the fire escape. It was suddenly very hard to breathe inside her apartment. She pulled her colorful robe around herself and stared out into the night sky. The song followed her, each word, each note pricking her already very sore heart.

**I'm broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it**

**Where are you tonight, you know how much I need it**

She was openly sobbing now, hugging herself against the chill of the night air and the one that ran through her at the thought of life without Danny. "Stupid British jazz musicians. I don't even like jazz!" she wailed.

Mindy was reminded of another reason why she used to always skip this song: she struggled to sing along to it. Every verse was a mouthful of emotion and heartbreak, and what the hell was the chorus? There were repeated phrases, sure, but it was as if the songwriter felt like there was just _so much_ to be said, who cares if the song made for good karaoke? But she had to admit that the songwriter was on to something. If she could, she'd say everything in the stupid, sad, impossible-to-sing-along-to song to Danny. Starting with what she guessed was _supposed_ to be the chorus, as it would be the first step in any attempt at rekindling his love for her.

**Oh lover, you should've come over**

**Cause it's not too late**

* * *

**AN: Recommended listening for this chapter is Jamie Cullum's rendition of the song off of his album "Twentysomething". There is a slight difference in the wording of the title - "Lover, You Should Have Come Over" vs. "Should've" - and the song is both abridged lyrically and for running time, but it is still a lovely cover of a lovely song.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Danny**_

"Richie? Can you talk?" Danny paced his kitchen in his bare feet, an almost empty bottle of his home brew dangling from his hand. He was going to need something stronger, but he wanted so badly to stay clear-headed tonight. Well, as clear-headed as a guy that was making major life decisions based on _songs_ could be.

"Yeah, Dan, I'm here. We're in for the night; what's up?"

"You and Ramon aren't going out? You feeling okay?" Danny chuckled, gently ribbing his baby brother for what he considered to be his fast-paced and glamourous lifestyle in South Beach.

"No, we're fine. It's Self-Care Saturday, Dan."

Danny looked at his cell as though the thing had started to grow hair. "What- what the hell is 'Self-Care Saturday'? Did you join a cult? I told you, Scientology is nothing but a goddamn racket. You want life advice, you talk to a priest-"

"_Daniel_. Relax. It's just a thing where you stay home and focus on engaging in activities that are all about taking good care of yourself, you know, inside and out. Oprah's always talking about it and probably Gwyneth Paltrow too, but I find her exhausting. I tolerate her only for Ramon's sake-"

Danny rolled his eyes and let out the breath he'd been holding. "Alright, alright. This sounds almost as bad as you becoming a Scientologist. Call me tomorrow; I don't want to interrupt your. . . thing." He was not saying "Self-Care Saturday" again, no way. _Bunch of celebrity nonsense. You want to take care of yourself? Go for a run. Take a high-quality multivitamin. Done._

"I said I could talk, Dan! You sound like you need to. Lay it on me, big bro."

Danny stopped pacing and drained the last of his beer with a grimace. He'd thought he was being clever when he'd named it _Funky Ale_. What he didn't realize is that he'd inadvertently described its taste, but he'd never admit it. "I was on a date tonight" he croaked.

"You got back with Dr. L.? Oh, thank god! Ramon, he did it! The vision board worked!"

"What? No, no. I'd been seeing my co-worker's sister. Sally."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay, so you were on a date with this- _Sally_. And?"

"Come on, Richie. Don't be angry. I got enough people angry at me." Danny slumped against the kitchen counter, eyeing his bottle of scotch on the island. He licked his lips as he imagined the smooth, smoky flavor against his tongue. And if he followed a stiff drink or three with a cigarette? Oh man, he'd be invincible.

"I'm not angry. I'm frustrated. It's just- No, no, keep talking to me. What happened on your date, Danny?" Richie's voice softened, temporarily coaxing Danny away from indulging in liquid courage.

Danny told him about the awkwardness of tonight's date. It wasn't long before he'd spilled all of the gory details. About how he'd even ended up at dinner, and on trips to the farmer's market, and in between her legs, in the first place. And then he told Richie about the most important part: the song. The song that had shaken him out of his miserable daze, that had _made_ him miserable with realizations he'd been trying so hard to ignore. How he'd told Sally he'd made a mistake; that it had been too soon for him, and he was sorry. When he'd said he hoped there were no hard feelings, she'd absentmindedly tugged on her glossy red ponytail and furrowed her eyebrows. She was uncharacteristically quiet - he guessed; he didn't _really_ know her all that well, to tell you the truth - for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders.

"Peter warned me that this was probably going to happen. _God_, I hate when he's right. And now I'm gonna have to pay him $150 bucks! You couldn't have waited for just two more dates, Danny?" she whined.

"What- you made a _bet_ with him about me?" He was embarrassed by how much his voice had cracked, but they were _betting_ on him? _The _nerve _of those assholes!_

"Well, you know how it is!" No, no he did not "know how it is", but he was too stunned and eager to get away to ask. "It was fun, Danny. Really. No hard feelings. I hope everything works out with you and that Black lady doctor friend of Peter's."

Danny was again left gaping at her with his mouth open as she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Um, you'll take care of the check still, right?" she chuckled. Danny gulped and nodded quickly, not wanting to meet her eyes.

Finished with the recap of his bizarre night, he exhaled loudly. "So that's what happened, Rich. And now, I don't know. I- What do you, what do you think?"

Richie was silent for so long that Danny was afraid the call had been disconnected. "Hello?" he practically whispered, dreading the thought of having to pour his heart out all over again.

"I'm here, I'm here. Give me a sec, okay? Ramon! Baby, Google 'Lover, You Should've Come Over' by Jeff Buckley. Yup, that's it. Press play. Hang on, Dan."

Danny's heart clenched again as he heard the opening chords pour through his phone. He closed his eyes and imagined himself below Mindy's window, holding up a boombox and playing the song for her. He wondered if he could still get a boombox nowadays. He wondered if Mindy would come to the window to see what all the ruckus was. _Of course she would. It would be like a scene from one of her dumb movies. In fact, isn't that a scene from some movie? Oh yeah. "Say Anything."_ So he wasn't original. His heart was still in the right place.

"Dan. _Dan_. _Danny_!" Shit, he must have really zoned out. "Sorry, I'm here, I'm here Richie."

"God, Dan. I was just gonna say it's a gorgeous song, man. I can see why it affected you so much."

"Yeah."

"And you must _really_ love Dr. L., huh Danny?" He could feel Richie's eyes on him through the phone. He wiped his clammy brow and finally gave in, reaching for his bottle of scotch. He took a long swig straight from the bottle, coughing a little after he swallowed too much too fast.

"Yeah, Richie. I really do."

"_Then what are you still doing on the phone with him?_ My god, you Castellano boys and your _feelings_! Just go to her! You should be running across the city right now, but no, you're still on the phone, _Jesús Cristo_!" Ramon was shouting in the background and grabbing for the phone, Danny guessed, because of all the muffled shouts and laughter he was hearing. His face felt like it was on fire, and he wasn't sure if the cause was the scotch or Ramon's scolding. But he knew Ramon was right.

"Okay, alright, okay. Alright, okay, okay. I'm- I'm hanging up! I love you, Richie! You too, Ramon! Shit. Okay, I'm hanging up."

"Good luck, Dan. You're gonna make her real happy, you know that right?" Richie said softly.

Danny choked back a sob. His baby brother always knew just what to say. He guessed he'd done a few things right with him, then. "Yeah" he croaked. "Thanks."

* * *

The next twenty minutes were a whirlwind of madness in Danny's apartment. Even though he'd showered and dressed for his date with Sally, he wanted to make an impression on Mindy. He wanted her to know that she was worth his effort and time. He scrubbed himself raw and shaved his face so close that he had a few close calls with the razor. It didn't help that his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Danny dressed himself in a striped shirt he'd remembered that Mindy had once complemented and a pair of dark jeans, but was dissatisfied with his reflection. _You're telling the love of your life that you love her. That you want her back. That God and all his angels are telling you to be with her. This is not an occasion for dungarees, Castellano._

After trying on his best khakis, then a pair of black slacks, he finally settled on a charcoal gray suit and an ice blue dress shirt. He even put on an undershirt for extra protection and silently prayed that for once in his pathetic life his sweat glands would cooperate with him. He was about to leave when he realized he was without the most important thing he'd need on his mission: "The song! Holy crap!"

Danny clipped on his reading glasses and sat at his laptop. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he Googled 'download song to cell phone'. "Shit" he muttered, aimlessly clicking on links that made no sense to him at all . Maybe he should bring his laptop with him? He could just pull up the song on YouTube like Richie had.

He packed it away and ran to his bedroom, grabbing a pair of underpants, a t-shirt, socks, and jeans. He rolled up his clothes as tightly as he could so they'd fit in his laptop bag, and then ran for the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and deodorant. Danny knew it was presumptuous of him to come prepared to stay the night, but it was already 11:00pm. If things went the way he hoped, then, well, he'd be sleeping over for sure. If they didn't, he hoped that Mindy would at least let him crash on the couch after she breaks his heart.

Danny walked into his bedroom one last time to give himself a once-over and see if there was anything else he was forgetting. When he spotted Mr. Neck half hidden under a pillow, he reached for his well-loved animal and brought it up to his face to inhale its scent.

"_Danny, I washed him for you. I didn't want him to have that medicinal hospital smell or any lingering germs, so he's nice and clean. Mr. Neck is back to being drug and disease free!"_

"_Min, you washed him? Now he won't smell right!" Danny whined._

_Mindy brought the raggedy baby up to her nose. "He smells really good to me! And I was trying to do something nice, Danny. Don't get mad." She stuck out her bottom lip. How could he ever stay mad at that face?_

_Danny rolled his eyes and pulled her into his lap. "Im not mad. I'm just used to Mr. Neck having a certain smell. It's very comforting to me. Let me see what you did to him. What is he, drowned in Justin Beevers perfume or something?"_

_Mindy peppered his face with kisses. "My old man. Well, smell him! What do you think, Danny?"_

_Danny hesitantly brought Mr. Neck up to his nose and took a whiff. "Mmm" he said, his eyes closing on their own. He buried his face in the giraffe's worn orange coat and inhaled deeply. No, Mr. Neck did not smell the same. He smelled better. He smelled like early morning kisses and French toast. Almond-scented shampoo and men's deodorant. He smelled like Mindy's clean sheets, Mindy's clean pajamas, Mindy fresh out of the shower trying to hide her beautiful body in a bathrobe while Danny pretends not to peek. Mr. Neck smelled like Mindy._

"_I think Mr. Neck has never smelled better, Min" he said, pulling her in for a kiss. _

Danny stared down at his little friend and lovingly stroked his button eyes. "What the hell?" he whispered. "You're coming too, buddy".

* * *

If anyone had asked him why he was running, Danny wasn't sure what his answer should be. He had several: "Because I'm in love!" "I've wasted so much time!" "I'm too excited to walk!" But the one that kept playing in his mind was "Because that's what the guy does in a romantic movie when he's trying to win the woman of his dreams! He runs to her!"

Not getting sweaty had been a futile wish and effort. The closer he got to Mindy's apartment, the faster his feet seemed to go of their own accord. "I'm Billy Crystal. I'm Billy fucking Crystal" he muttered, his laptop bag slung across his body and slamming against his hip. He'd have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Just as long as it was only his hip that was bruised and not his ego. Or his heart.

Three blocks away from Mindy's, it dawned on him that he was showing up empty-handed. Yeah, he had on a suit, and a song (_on a fucking laptop, my god_), and Mr. Neck, but he had nothing to really present to her. No token of his affection. He stopped suddenly and looked around wildly. Thank god they lived in New York City; there'd be _something _open that sold _something_ appropriate to give his girl.

He was starting to give up hope when all he noticed around him were dimly lit bars and closed boutiques, but then he saw it. the Garden of Eden right in the middle of New York City. And this wasn't hyperbole; Danny was staring at the sign for _**Garden of Eden Farm-to-Table Cafe and Market: Open Late!**_

"Uh, hi" he said to the kid behind the counter.

"Hey" the kid said, seeming bored, as he twisted his dreds around a pencil. Danny turned up his nose; he hoped this idiot wasn't handling the food.

"You guys sell flowers?"

Dred-head sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hey man, _I_ don't sell anything. Flowers are a part of nature and nature shouldn't be commodified, but my mom is a capitalist pig serving the needs of _other_ capitalist pigs - nice suit, by the way - so she can sell you nature if you want. _If _you want." He glared at Danny, but quickly backed off once Danny returned a glare of his own. "You don't still want her to, do you?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"Fine. She's over here." Dred-head twisted his hair up into a bun which he held in place with his pencil before hopping the counter. "Mom! _Mom! _Some dude in a suit wants to buy flowers!" he shouted. A few tables were still occupied by diners who turned to stare at the two men. Danny felt his face redden and shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Mom" turned out to be a very kind and very flustered middle-aged woman who soundly scolded her son for his lack of customer service. "I'm sorry about him. I'm hoping this is just a phase. The market area is in the back. We have a great variety of fresh flowers and produce. Once you've found something you like, just ask for me and I'll ring you up."

"Thanks. But I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, right! Sorry; it's Mindy." She smiled and Danny was _sure_ he heard her wrong.

"Okay, Cindy. Thank you."

"No, no. _Mindy_. But everybody makes that mistake. It's not a name you hear very often, though we did have a woman place an order for the first time tonight and her name was Mindy! Small world, huh?"

Danny's ears were buzzing and he was certain that the room was spinning around him. He blinked a few times and made a face that he hoped could be received as a smile. "Yeah. Small world."

In a daze, he wandered toward the back. Everything was pointing him to her. Everything always had been, in fact. He felt sick, but not in a way that would prevent him from going on. It was the sick you feel right before a rollercoaster takes its high-speed descent, right before a plane lifts off into the atmosphere. The sick you feel right before everything is about to change and shift and make your life that much more exciting and fun and interesting. And maybe even full of love.

He looked at the flowers until his eyes settled on the ones he knew would be perfect. Danny had never heard her mention liking these flowers, so it was a gamble, but they were so _her. _They were what he saw when he looked at her. If she hated them, he'd explain, and maybe she'd grow to like them.

Danny wandered back up to the front till he found Mindy. _Another Mindy? Tonight? What are the odds?_

"Uh, Mindy?" he said with a chuckle. "I'd like a nice sized bouquet of the daffydills. A mix of the plain yellow and the yellow and white." Mindy looked so beautiful in yellow. Her disposition was sunny, and bright. And she was resilient. His mom grew daffodils and they stood up to hard rains and cold snaps and thoughtless boys trampling through them. Just like his Mindy.

"'_Daffydills_'? Oh wow, that's the cutest thing I've heard all week!" The other Mindy put her hands on her knees and let out a hearty laugh. Danny was confused. "What, is there another name for them? My ma grew them when I was kid. They're daffydills, right?"

The other Mindy pursed her lips and nodded. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry. People don't often give them as a gift and I- Um, I just thought it was cute that you picked them. The, ahem, _daffydills_."

While the other Mindy wrapped the flowers, Danny asked if they sold candy. _Another total cliche, flowers and candy, but what the hell? _"Oh no, I'm sorry. Just flowers and produce."

"Oh. My, uh- Well, she- She likes her sweets. . ." Danny trailed off nervously. He couldn't really claim Mindy. Not yet.

"Well, we just got the most delicious pineapples in. And the giving of a pineapple is very symbolic, you know."

And that's how Danny Castellano ended up knocking on Mindy's door with a pineapple under his arm, a bouquet of _daffydills _in his sweaty hand, and all of his hopes and dreams shoved in his laptop bag. When the door opened, Danny held his breath, not sure where to begin.

"Oh, hey, Dr. C.! You look sharp! You coming from a funeral or something?" Morgan pulled him over the threshold before he could answer and closed the door behind him with a snap.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Mindy**_

One of the good things about having been to approximately 73,000 weddings is that sometimes a girl can really luck out when it comes to the favors. Yeah, you can end up stuck with a packet of wildflower seeds. "Um, I live in Manhattan, _idiots_, and I hate nature!", Mindy had drunkenly shouted at that wedding. Or worse, those unbelievably thoughtless "_In lieu of a favor you'll probably leave behind anyway, we have made a donation to. . ." _cards. "You know what, I'm just going to take back the $400 Waterford crystal centerpiece I bought you jerks since you'd probably just _leave it behind anyway,_" she'd hissed at the bride and groom when they stopped at her table while making their rounds between the hors d'oeuvres and salad. But every now and then, good and thoughtful newlyweds will give their guests what they _really_ want: booze.

The bride had been from Nashville and planned the corniest, most country-fried wedding she could, complete with gingham-ribbon tied Mason jars of flavored moonshine given to her guests as parting gifts. Mindy was determined to find that three-to-five year old jar of hooch if it killed her.

She'd meant for this alcohol-free weekend to be the start of a new Mindy, one who didn't drown her sorrows in gallons of red wine and Skinnygirl® cocktails. She didn't have a drop of the stuff in the house. . . mostly because she'd consumed it all throughout the week in preparation for this day. But new Mindy wasn't expecting to be totally blindsided by The Saddest Song in the World, and old Mindy couldn't handle being sober another moment as the song played on repeat.

"Where _are_ you?" Mindy wailed, on her knees in front of a pile of decorative picture frames, homemade CD mixes, and mini shadow boxes that she'd pulled from the bottom cabinet of the armoire in her living room. She was careful to keep the favors from the weddings she attended, sometimes grabbing two if she could swing it. It wasn't because she was so sentimental about the particular wedding itself; if she was being honest, she went to far more weddings of enemies than she'd like to admit.

Mindy kept the favors not as a fond remembrance, but so that when - and to be honest, at this point _if_ - her day came, she'd be sure not to repeat any of the cheeseball crap she'd received as a guest and/or wedding party member on her attendants. Really, how many satin, monogrammed, drawstring handbags does a girl need?

Defeated and exhausted from crying, Mindy lay on the floor and gulped for mouthfuls of air, her nose hopelessly stuffed. When the unpredictable April night weather had become too cool for her, she'd climbed back inside her apartment and thrown her iPod across the room in a blind rage. This was all Jamie Cullum's, and that song's, and Danny's fault, she thought as she watched the hot pink sliver of metal skid along the floor. It was still in the clear plastic protective case she used for her rare trips to the gym, so the offending instrument didn't shatter. Instead, she'd somehow activated the 'repeat' option and "Lover, You Should Have Come Over" taunted her on a seemingly never-ending loop. Mindy didn't even bother trying to look for it; she'd cried so hard and for so long that she'd lost one contact lens and thoroughly dried out the other. "Self-care Saturday" was turning out to be more like "Seventh Circle of Hell Saturday". Mindy let out a small, bitter chuckle; if she wasn't so spent and miserable, she might have tweeted that.

She closed her eyes and let Jamie's gravelly voice roll over her. She'd given up trying to ignore the song. Although really, how could she? If this was a scene from one of her movies, this would all be the set up for the moment when the plucky, adorable star and her love interest reunite. Honestly, it had all been _so cliche: _her trying to move on by giving up men and alcohol; stumbling across a song on an album she'd owned for almost ten years but had never paid attention to before; and instead of silencing the music, she'd accidentally set it on repeat to torture herself emotionally for what, like, all of eternity? Classic rom-com movie tropes.

"Ex-except in the mo-movies," Mindy hiccuped, "Danny would have been here by now. B-but _no_. _He_ actually gets to move on. _He_ goes on dates with skinny redheads. And I'm gonna spend my pathetic life on this f-f-fucking floor!" She rolled over on her side and wept into the crook of her arm. Maybe if she hadn't told Danny she was fine when they were alone in the mobile clinic. She thought for a moment that she'd seen something in his eyes, but she'd been afraid that she was wrong. _Again_. So she lied and smiled and later pretended she didn't hear Danny and Peter whisper about someone named Sally.

Mindy rubbed her eyes and felt around blindly for her glasses, pretty sure she'd left them on the living room floor when they'd fallen off during her attempt at a Tracy Anderson workout DVD a day or so ago. She reached under her couch, her fingertips brushing against the smooth plastic frames. Grunting, she slowly scooted forward on her belly and awkwardly grabbed at her specs, shoving them on the bridge of her nose. That's when she saw it: a decorative storage box unceremoniously shoved under the couch. "Yes!" she gasped. It had been the catch-all for the bigger, bulkier, frankly, more awkward favors. There was a good chance her liquid salvation was nestled inside its limited edition Vera Bradley walls.

"A snowglobe, a Precious Moments figurine of the bride and groom, - the absolute _worst_ - that random blue phone booth thingy from that British show for nerds filled with the grossest candy ever - _AHA!_" Mindy held the dusty jar over her head in victory and scrambled to her knees.

There was no time for a glass, or ice, or even getting herself to the couch. She wanted to be tipsy twenty minutes ago. The lid unscrewed with a satisfying pop and Mindy tentatively brought the jar to her nose. It _was_ moonshine after all. The smell was very much like rubbing alcohol with a hint of - "What flavor is this supposed to be anyway?" she muttered, inspecting the shabby-chic label. "Pineapple upside-down cake? If you say so. Well, turn down for what?" Mindy sighed, tipping the jar in an imaginary toast before taking a swig.

"ACK! BLECH! _Jesus!_ Vile poison!" The hooch she hadn't inadvertently swallowed was spit all over her hardwood floors, the harsh smell of chemically treated tropical fruit quickly filling her living room.

"Oh god," she groaned, wiping her chin with the back of her hand and screwing the lid back on the jar. For the second time that night she found herself rinsing her mouth out at her kitchen sink, the harsh, antiseptic burn still lingering despite the many desperate gulps of water she drank.

"Lover, You Should Have Come Over" was still wailing mournfully in the background. Her living room looked like the ghost of Miss Havisham had taken over her body (she _had_ been paying attention in Intro to English Lit back in undergrad). Mindy was seriously considering walking to the sketchy bodega for a 40 oz. (re-hiring Beverly had been good for something) or flinging herself off of her fire escape when the phone rang. Wad of paper towels in hand, she rolled her eyes as she hit 'accept', knowing if she didn't, he'd only call back again and again.

"Yes, Morgan?"

"Hi, Dr. L.! It's Morgan. From work?"

"Morgan, I know. I said 'Yes, Mor-' Nevermind, what is it?"

"I just wanted to let you know I'm only a few blocks away from home and I've got the girls with me."

Mindy wiped at the floor, sucking her teeth as the varnish came up from the spot where she'd spit out the alcohol. "Morgan, what are you talking about? You don't need to let me know your sched- No, Morgan! _No! _You don't live here. Turn around right this minute."

"Dr. L., we had such a good thing going! I missed you so much these last couple of weeks and I'd never forgive myself if those robbers came back and you got axe murdered to death!"

Mindy sat back on her heels and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Morgan, I'm not even home! I'm in. . . Paris! I went to Paris for the weekend and I've been kidnapped by human traffickers and-"

"Come on, Dr. L. You really think I'm going to fall for that again? That 9-1-1 operator was so mad at me-"

"God, _fine_, Morgan! What 'girls' do you have with you? They better be human!"

"The girls from work! Bets, Beverly, Tamra. It's girls night!"

Mindy frowned and held the phone away from her face. "Morgan, _you _went out on a _girl's night_ with the women from the office? They invited _you_ and not me?" Her chin began to tremble; normally, she wouldn't care. Okay, maybe she'd care a little bit about being left out, even by those weirdos. But with all the rejection she'd been facing lately, this was just one more blow that she didn't think she could take.

"No, Dr. L., no! We tried to invite you! Don't you remember? You distinctly told us that under no circumstances were we to bother you about any social activities this weekend because you were staying in and getting yourself off."

"_What?_ Morgan, I did _not_-"

"Uh-huh! Something about Gwyneth Paltrow stays home and does it on Saturdays and you were gonna start to do it too. I thought it was a weird thing to announce, but what do I know about these things?"

"Oh my god, Morgan, I said _Self-care_ Saturday, you idiot! Ugh, you're all probably here by now; just get upstairs!" Mindy ended the call and shook her head. Well, at least she wasn't being rejected by everyone in her life. And maybe some company would do her good. They would serve as a distraction for as long as she could tolerate them in her home, at least. She sighed and tried to straighten things up a bit until she heard Morgan's tell-tale knock at the door.

Her four work subordinates came trailing in, cheerfully chatting amongst themselves. Mindy envied them for a change. They all seemed genuinely happy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her girlfriends and her new friendship with Peter was beginning to fizzle a bit after his coaching exercise had failed so miserably. Mindy crossed her arms protectively across her chest as they greeted her and settled in, making themselves at home in the living room they'd visited more times than she realized.

"Nuh-huh, Dr. L. This music has got to go. It's all sad and shit. Oop! I can swear now that we not at work, though, right?" Tamra had found the iPod and flipped through the songs until she found something uptempo that made her close her eyes and bop to the music.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care. What did you guys do tonight?" Mindy absentmindedly wiped at her cheeks; she didn't want any evidence of how she'd spent her night to show.

"You'd be so proud of us! We went to the theater! We were cultured New York sophisticates! Like people from your magazines!" said Betsy.

"A guy I knew in Otisville is an up and coming actor. He's doing a one-man musical interpretation of the 'Twilight' movies way, way off-Broadway. It was _terrible_ but you gotta support the arts," Morgan shrugged.

"Yup, we were _real_ classy. I wore my compression hose and everything. I'm just glad I can finally take the damn things off. You got anything to drink in this dump, and I'm not talking about water," growled Beverly, roughly elbowing Mindy in the ribs.

"Ouch! All I have is a bottle of moonshine I got as a wedding favor like five years ago. I'm pretty sure it went bad, though. It's not drinkable."

"Eh, you're just too dainty for the good stuff. Here, hold my gum." Beverly unscrewed the cap and chugged without coming up for a breath. When she finally did, about a third of the jar was gone. "Hoo-yeah!"

"Oh my god!" Mindy stuck Beverly's gum on a napkin and plopped down on a kitchen chair. Tamra and Betsy were sharing her magazines; Beverly flipped on the TV, her hoseless feet on the coffee table as she sipped from the jar. Mindy shook her head at the scene in front of her. If she called Jeremy and Peter, it would be a real office night out. They hadn't had a proper one of those in a long time.

Still, there'd be one person missing. Mindy stuck her hand in the pocket of her bathrobe and felt for her phone. _What would happen if I called Danny tonight?_, she wondered. Would he come? Would he be free to? She knew that he'd been on a few dates with that Sally; would he even take her calls now that he was seeing someone? Mindy felt her eyes start to fill with tears as she scrolled to his name. Her thumb hovered over the send option. Instead, she quickly shoved her phone back in her pocket as a hot, fat tear rolled down her cheek.

"Dr. L., you okay? Are you upset about missing the show? 'Cause I can call Peanut up right now and he'll perform the whole thing for you in your living room. He may, however, insist on wearing one of your bras when he's playing Bella." Morgan kneeled next to her and put a comforting hand on Mindy's shoulder.

"No, Morgan, as intrigued as I am by your friend's performance, I'm sad about something else. I'm- I'm just really missing someone tonight."

"Well, why don't you call them up? Tell 'em to come on over? We're a friendly bunch!" Morgan's smile was so hopeful, Mindy thought for a moment that she might be able to.

"It's not that simple. Things are complicated between us. I don't think this person would even want to come over if I called. He ended things with me, so." Mindy looked down at her lap, picking at imaginary lint on her pajama bottoms.

"Oh man. Oh _man! _That just makes me so _angry_, Dr. L.! You're a smart, beautiful, rich, classy woman. You look just like the brown M&M-"

"No, _she_ looks just like _me_!"

"Yeah! Any guy would be lucky to be yours! And some. . . _twerp_-"

Betsy looked up from her magazine and gasped. "_Morgan!_"

"I'm sorry Betsy, but it had to be said. Some _twerp_ just stomps all over your heart like it's made of roaches? No! It's not right! Come here, you little chocolate Easter lamb." Morgan gathered Mindy up in bear hug and stroked her hair.

Mindy closed her eyes and relaxed against Morgan's chest for a moment. It felt nice to be held by someone that genuinely cared for her, even if he had an over-enthusiastic and at times bizarre way of showing it. When Morgan began to rock her back and forth and hum the tune to "Angel" from those dog abuse commercials, she squirmed free. "Okay, Morgan, okay. Thank you. I feel. . . better. Here, why don't you guys get a game started while I freshen up a little?" She led him over to her bookcase and pointed out her stash of board games.

"Hey, awesome! Ladies, who's up for a round of high-stakes Scattegories?" Morgan cried.

"Make it _strip_ Scattegories and you can count me in," said Beverly. "You know, I once played strip Scattegories with Rob Ford and now I'm not allowed in most parts of Ontario. Fine with me; I get all my FDA recalled prescription drugs from Tijuana anyhow."

Mindy shook her head. "Oh my god." Mindy quietly snuck off to her bathroom as the gang started to play. She frowned at her reflection and turned on the faucet full-blast. Her hair was knotty and tangled; so much for all her deep conditioning efforts. All of her crying left her with red-rimmed, puffy eyes and dry, tear-stained skin. "And I can _still_ taste pineapple moonshine!" she shrieked, reaching for her toothbrush.

As Mindy made work of improving her appearance for the second time that night, she listened to her uninvited guests shout and laugh and enjoy each other's company. Mindy was again struck by how lonely she'd been since ending things with Danny. _This is why you don't date co-workers. Or friends, _she thought to herself as she brushed her teeth. Danny's words from the night he broke her heart rang through her head. "You're my best friend. You're my _only_ friend. I don't want to lose you. What's gonna happen if we really start to date? I won't see you anymore. I can't lose you. Is that what you want?"

Mindy spit in the sink as though the toothpaste in her mouth was venom. She wasn't miserable anymore; she was angry. Danny had done to her _exactly_ what he claimed he was trying to prevent. He'd thrown her aside without so much as an explanation and abandoned their friendship on top of it. "So much for 'best friends'" she snarled, roughly running a brush through her tangled hair. "I'll show him _best friends_. I'm going to have fun tonight with my weird co-workers. He is not going to ruin me. I won't let him."

Things sounded like they were getting pretty wild in the living room; Tamra was whooping at the top of her lungs at the end of each round, and someone kept banging on the table. _That is a piece from West Elm and it was _not _on sale, _Mindy thought as she washed her face. She'd have to give them a lecture about proper game night etiquette once she was finished with her primping.

Satisfied with her appearance once again, she headed back out into the living room, cleaning her glasses on her bathrobe as she went. "Guys, I'm glad you're having a great time, but you've got to take it easy on my furniture. This isn't Ikea stuff, you know. Well, a lot of it is, but that table isn't. I was trying to flirt with a very cute salesman and ended up spending way more than-"

"Hey, Min."

For a second, Mindy thought about simply turning on her heel and marching herself into her bedroom, locking the door and never coming out. She also thought that maybe she was having a stroke, or was suffering from some sort of tear-induced dehydration and was having an auditory hallucination. _If I don't turn my head or put my glasses on, I can go with the second thing for a while_, she thought, swallowing past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

"Min?"

Mindy still hadn't looked up from her glasses, her fingers working the fabric of her robe over the lenses in frantic circles. _I'm dreaming. Or I swallowed more of that goddamn moonshine than I thought and I'm drunk_. Her ears were buzzing and for a moment, she was afraid she might faint. There was no way she'd give him the satisfaction.

"Morgan, did you answer my door?" Mindy spit the question at him with narrowed eyes, her chin jutted at him accusingly. Her tone was unmistakingly icy; the pleasant chattering that had filled the room suddenly stilled.

Morgan, who'd been lounging against the kitchen island, stood at attention. "Uh, y-yeah, Dr. L. You were in the bathroom and I checked the peephole thingy first-"

"Morgan, I was just the victim of a _robbery_. I think it was very unsafe of you to just- to just open my door, without my permission, to any old person that might come knocking! It could have been a murderer!" Mindy pushed her glasses on her face and finally shot a look in the direction of her unwelcome visitor. Her heart plummeted to her stomach; why did he have to look so handsome and _so freaking sad?_

"Yeah, but Dr. L., it's Dr. C.! From work! You didn't want me to let Dr. C. in? We love Dr. C.!" Morgan looked around the room wildly for support. Betsy and Beverly nodded enthusiastically; Tamra shrugged and quietly mumbled "I guess; he's _alright_" under her breath.

"Morgan, it's- it's okay. It's my fault Dr. L. is upset. She has every reason not to want me here." Danny spoke so softly that at first Mindy thought she imagined it. She stared at him for a moment before catching herself and breaking away from his gaze. Mindy stomped away from him and busied herself at the kitchen sink, wiping down the counter and washing the glasses Morgan and the girls had apparently used while she was in the bathroom.

"No, no, Dr. C. Dr. L.'s not mad at you. She's upset because some _idiot_ dumped her, _again_, and she's feeling down. I'm telling you, one of these days we're gonna find you a good guy, Dr. L.!"

Mindy held on the the edge of the sink. She couldn't believe this was happening. The silence after Morgan's declaration seemed to draw on endlessly. Mindy's face was on fire. Why was he here? To watch her suffer? Did he somehow know that almost everyone from work was at her place? Did he want to humiliate her now, too? Breaking her heart hadn't been enough? A sob shook Mindy's body; she bit the inside of her cheek to keep it from escaping her mouth. Beverly must have emptied the mason jar and left it on the counter. Mindy snatched it and began to scrub it with all her might.

"Morgan, it's late. The women's hospital can't guarantee that I won't have to share a bed if I don't get in before 2:00am. Dr. L., thank you for a fun night! We're going to get going now." Betsy's tone told Mindy that perhaps she was the only one of the four who could read the tension in the room. Tamra and Beverly muttered in agreement, following her lead. Mindy only nodded her head in reply, still wiping away at the decorative glass filled with sudsy water.

"No, wait! I'm the idiot. It's me." Danny sounded like he had something caught in his throat. He coughed a few times; Mindy still refused to look at him. _He can choke for all I care._

"Dr. C., what are you talking about? I am so confused right now. This is almost as bad as the time my grandma tried to tell me about the birds and the bees. Our attic was completely infested with them last summer. It was a _nightmare_."

"Morgan, I- I'm the idiot who dumped Mindy. I was lucky enough to be her boyfriend for a little while and I. . . I completely screwed everything up. I hurt her. I was- I was, um, too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage I'd done. I'm here tonight to beg her to forgive me, and to tell her that I love her. That I've always loved her. That I always will."

"Oh my goodness!"

"Well, whaddya know."

"Oh, snap! I _knew_ it, though!"

Mindy froze, her hands submerged in the water she'd unnecessarily filled the sink with. Her manicure would be ruined. _He loves me? _She slowly turned towards Danny, her view of him a bit clouded by the unshed tears beginning to pool behind her glasses. He stood in her doorway dressed in a suit, a bouquet of bright flowers in one hand, and inexplicably holding a pineapple in the other. He wore a pained expression on his face and she frowned, thinking it was because he'd had to admit to his feelings for her in front of an audience. But when her eyes finally reached his, the crooked grin she adored broke through. Maybe Danny wasn't embarrassed; he'd been upset thinking that she wouldn't accept him. She chewed on her bottom lip and sighed, offering him the tiniest of smiles. "Oh, Danny," she whispered.

"Hey, Min."

Mindy shook her head, tears falling freely from her eyes. She started towards him, her hands flailing as she let him have it. "Daniel Caste-_lame_-o, you stupid, dumb-"

Mindy's eyes saw the mason jar fly from her wet fingers, watched as it shattered on her kitchen floor, yet the message from her brain that should have stopped her foot from stepping on a particularly jagged shard was delayed.

Probably hung up somewhere between the speech she was preparing to deliver and trying to figure out why the hell Danny had a pineapple with him. Well, she'd be sure to ask him once she stopped screaming and he was able to stop the bleeding.


End file.
